The Door Was Bolted

[methhomework]

me as a laywer

me: so you took a shower and then you heard the gun shot

witness: yes

me as a lawyer: isn’t the first cardinal rule of perm maintenance that you’re forbidden to wet your hair for at least 24 hours after getting a perm at the risk of deactivating the immonium thygocolate

witness: i’m bald

[thedoorwasbolted]

The winners make history; the losers make art.

[thedoorwasbolted]

So..

I finally have a story idea about aliens... should I be proud or ashamed?

[thedoorwasbolted]

The Bar on St. Peter’s

Three priests walked into the bar. They sat down in tall, black stools and I asked them what they all wanted to drink.

“Holy water,” said the bigger one with a round smile.

“How many times have you heard that one, Pete?” The oldest-looking one in the bunch asks.

“Not too many,” I lied. Under the bar, I scratched a tally onto one of the prayer cards which the seminary bought in bulk. I remember this one was for Immaculate Mary. It’d be filled by the end of the night. I used the tally-taking like a swear jar. For every sin I’d write a tally. I did this so I could give an accurate number for the mandatory confession the seminary had every Wednesday. I often forgot what sin I had committed, but I typically went with the minor ones. Most of my sins were just for lying, with the occasional sexual temptation or masturbation sprinkled in once or twice a month. I’d have to rotate the weeks so the priests didn’t catch on.

[thedoorwasbolted]

Been away for a while (Update)

Sorry I haven’t posted much here lately. I’ve been trying to “perfect” a few pieces for submission. No news of success yet. Not that I’m expecting it either to be honest. The few that I submitted to are really competetive and though I value what my pieces will hopefully become, I’m not sure that they are there yet. Doesn’t mean I’m not working on it though, or that I’ve given up any hope on them. These few pieces I’ve decided to try and work on are hard to work on but that, at least to me, just proves that they are worth the effort. 

I also have a job right now which doesn’t involve writing, which terrifies me a little bit. I get home and am too tired to really do much but play video games and sleep. This is something I need to stop immediately. At this point, writing and reading should be at the top of the list of importance. Work’s there for money. If I didn’t need it, I wouldn’t do it. Trust me. 

At this point, writing this is helping me. I’m going to be honest for a minute and break this weird writing blog facade for a minute. I had a real shit day at work. I know, I know. Who doesn’t? and why do I have to bitch? But I can’t really think like that these days. What gives me authority and why do I think My confidence has been growing, but is still at the edge or collapse. The bigger it gets, I also find it getting completely unstable, and I’m afraid of the crash but also what’ll happen if it stays this stagnant.

I’ve been thinking of two quotes recently. I can’t place the person who said the first one (Great start, I know).

“Fake it, until you make it [or until it becomes real]”

That’s basically how I’ve been going through the past few months. Unfortunately, I’ve proved that I’m pretty much terrible at acting because I can’t keep the character constant.

If that’s the past, here’s the new one. I’ve given up on trying to summarize it. So here’s a video:

The quote, I guess, would end at about a minute in. That being said, the whole interview is enjoyable, which is always true with Janelle.

I guess that’s all I have for now. Though this is a sort-of private blog which isn’t really attached to me -- or at least it feels that way -- I think I tend to go on these bigger tangents, almost like a diary or journal. But the freedom to do so really makes me feel better. 

That being said, I’ll try to post something new in a few days. Keep in mind though that I’ll have other things going on and more importantly other writing projects, so I’m not really going to be focusing on the Tumblr.

Thanks for letting me type at you for a while. In the meantime, keep writing and keep reading. 

--M.S.

[thedoorwasbolted]

How would your character describe a completely empty, white room?

A fun little thing I’ve been doing with a few characters. There are no doors or windows. Just an all white room with some light and some shadow.

[thedoorwasbolted]

I wonder how many followers I’ve lost while trying to get bigger writing projects done?

[thedoorwasbolted]

Pink Chanel

[thedoorwasbolted]

I have this bad habit of pretending to smoke.

[thedoorwasbolted]

Cringing to the Beat -- Fragment #4

We walked into the record store on the square. They had some really weird shit on the radio. Sounded like a man hitting a block of wood like a snare drum and occasionally shout-singing the word – “Cultism.” We unfortunately happened to be in there for the other two songs, “Maxx-ism” and “Concission” – or I assumed those were the titles as they were the only words said over the same repetitive drum beat. I bobbed my head back and forth to it while I tried to flip through CD’s which were too tightly packed together from overstock to actually flip. I didn’t do it because I wanted to, but it was almost a series of flinches every time the drumstick came in contact with what-ever-the-fuck the man hit it with. It sometimes sounding like tin, others like wood, and others like a piece of flimsy plastic, or even the mic itself.

“This is the worst one yet. I can’t do it,” said the cashier to the other employees nodding their heads. Their necks were bent towards the racks like their own heads were being shoved into the racks by the weight of how awful the howling was over the speakers. It was all collective cringing. The cashier doesn’t mute the track though. He just keeps it on like the scowl on his face.

[thedoorwasbolted]

Just thinkin’ bout how every realtionship you ever make will either end with you above a grave or buried beneath it.

:)

[thedoorwasbolted]

I promised myself I wouldn’t see the sunrise today.

[thedoorwasbolted]

This had a lot of thought behind it, but not a lot of thinking.

[thedoorwasbolted]

For dying every day of your life, you don’t know much about it, do you?

[thedoorwasbolted]

Some people drunk text friends. I anxiety text them.

[thedoorwasbolted]

Real Talk

I’m honestly terrified of becoming homeless.

Like actually, the walls I have now are thin and quickly falling while I’m also being pushed towards the door.

Yeah, that was placed really purple’y, but the thought of it keeps me up at night. 

[thedoorwasbolted]

one + 1

Humans are not puzzle pieces. If we were then it wouldn’t hurt When the crevices between our toes Or in the bridge between the toes and the heel Press against wooden ladders to complete the full-flat foot.

If we were puzzle pieces then we could put our finger tips where each finger ends Or we could at least hold hands Without there being gaps Or weird spaces where bones gnash against our different grooves

If humans were puzzle pieces Our noses wouldn’t get in the way when we kissed Or your spine would make out my ribcage

Humans are not puzzle pieces; We do not make two things one But one another feel whole.